


All is ash and dust and bone

by appleseed



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Apocalypse, Bamf!Erik, Canon Compliant, Dark!Charles, M/M, Other, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-08
Updated: 2012-03-08
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:17:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/358812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appleseed/pseuds/appleseed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps it was fitting that, in the ruins of the only place he had ever – as an adult, at least - called home, he would be the one standing between an irresistible force and the end of the world.</p>
<p>“Hello, my friend,” says the irresistible force.</p>
<p>“Hello, Charles.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All is ash and dust and bone

**Author's Note:**

> I knocked this out while taking a break from my Atonement/Inglorious Basterds - Archie/Robbie mashup fic (twelve pages and I haven't even got to the sex, what's up with that?!). That thing is eating my brain DDDDDD:
> 
> I'm still not sure where I was going with this, but I thought that seeing Charles in a different light than twinkly-eyed professor would be a little bit of a change.

It isn't until the fourth mission that has ended like this that Erik realises something is wrong. The imprisoned mutants are already free, but the humans... The humans are horribly mutilated, even worse than the other times; Erik can feel the bile rising in his throat at the sight and smell of blood and flesh. Their pain is almost tangible, but they're all dead, so that's not what bothers Erik. It's the brutality of their death that bothers him.

Erik's suddenly glad for his helmet, blocking out Emma and her ironically arched eyebrow.

Azazel materialises beside him; Erik has been with him long enough that he no longer starts in surprise when the teleporter does this. “What happened here?” Erik demands, quelling the urge to throw up. Azazel pauses and rolls his shoulders as though easing tension in them; “the others,” he begins, “say that the humans let them go, and then turned on themselves. One – the big one – started using a knife...” The teleporter trails off; apparently even he, no stranger to this kind of scene, is bothered by it.

“Is there some toxin in the air that made them do this? Something they drank? A mutant, maybe?” Erik suggests, turning his back on the lab full of dead humans and making his way back to the cages where the mutants had been held, Azazel falling into step beside him. His companion shrugs. “Emma says the others were too glad to be released to notice what else was going on until it was too late.”

Erik doesn't know how to account for this state of affairs; their carefully laid plans of breaking into the lab, releasing the mutants held captive there and then blowing the lab up, usually with the humans still inside, have once again been thwarted. By what or by whom, Erik simply doesn't know.

Mystique meets them as they push the doors open and without any introduction tells them, “Emma thinks something's wrong.” Erik looks over to where Emma is standing, crystalline and sparkling in the artificial light of the room; unusually for someone as cool and detached as her, she's giving away how she feels – her fists are clenched and her shoulders are tense.

Erik makes his way over to her, scanning the room as he goes. Mystique is talking quietly to Azazel where he has just left them, and Angel and Riptide are standing a short distance from the huddled group of freed mutants, not speaking but simply looking bored. Angel even has her arms folded in a rather petulant pose. There are days when Erik wonders why she has stayed with them when they've so far failed to satisfy her apparent bloodlust.

“Emma?” Erik asks, careful to stand at a slight distance from her when she's in her diamond form.

Her voice tinkles when she speaks. “Something's wrong. I can feel it.” “Feel what?” Erik says in answer to her, feeling baffled. Her next question wrong-foots him completely.

“Do you know how telepathy works?”

“Um...”

“Telepaths can sense thoughts.... It's not like touch or taste specifically, but a mixture of the two. Thoughts, even the smallest and most fleeting one, leave an imprint behind, and I can sense it if I concentrate.”

Erik takes a minute to work out what she's trying to tell him. “So... someone was here and did this to the humans?”

Emma shakes her head; it sounds like silver bells. Erik has always suspected that this is her battle form, and abruptly understands that Emma is _afraid_. “I don't know what it was, but something was here that made the humans free the mutants and then butcher themselves,” is Emma's answer. She goes on, quietly, meant for his ears only, “I'm not powerful enough to figure out the source or nature of the imprint.”

The fact that Emma Frost has just admitted weakness to him sends chills up Erik's spine; she must really be afraid to ignore her pride so completely. She shimmers back into her human form and shoots him a pointed look that complements the thought he's just had – she might not be powerful enough, but they both know someone who  _is_ . Emma knows better than to mention that person by name.

“We're leaving,” Erik says curtly, loud enough for the others to hear and gather round the group of mutants in the middle of the room. He doesn't know what they've been told about their band of mutants or where they're going, but he doesn't care. He wants out of here, and soon. They all reach out to touch each other, forming a connection that allows Azazel to transport them all back to base.

Later, Erik watches the news and notes that the authorities are blaming a wild animal for the state of the bodies left in the facility, and he can't help but wonder if it might be partly true.

*

The first indication that Erik gets that today might not be such a normal day is the look of alarm on Emma's face. Her eyes grow wide and distant, making Erik stalk over to her across the room they use as a sitting room and growl out, “what's wrong?”

She answers faintly, “we need to get up to the surface, now. All of us.” She offers no further explanation but shifts into her diamond form and walks out the door, leaving Erik confused and more than a little angry. He follows her anyway.

When they get to the large metal doors that lead to outside, the others have joined them. Emma must sent them telepathic instructions. Erik lets the metal sing to him, manipulating them until the welded join formed in the middle has disappeared and the doors swing open. He doesn't know what to expect and keeps himself alert as he steps out into the sunshine.

A hand on his arm stops him; he looks down and then up at Emma, raising an eyebrow in question. “Here. Here is fine,” she says, waving at their little band of mutants to spread out around him. Mystique stands to his left, Emma on his right, and the twenty other mutants fan out to form a semi-circle in front of the base doors.

Everything is quiet for a long moment, and then Erik can hear, very faintly, the sound of a jet engine. He lets his metal sense extend until he can feel the approaching plane; it's large and powerful. More than that, there's at least thirty people on board, and the shape and size of the jet is familiar.

The noise increases, and they all look skywards. Erik's heart leaps into his throat; it's the same jet as the one that crashed in Cuba. As the jet gets closer, he realises it isn't the same one, but a bigger version of it.

Erik's nerves are jangling, making the metal in the vicinity vibrate. Emma whispers his name quietly, with a hint of 'pull yourself together' in it and he tries to calm down as the jet begins it's descent. It lands facing away from them, and then there's silence. Erik can feel people moving about in the jet; it would be the work of only a moment to pin them to the sides of the jet and completely immobilise all of them.

There's a grinding noise that shatters the quiet as a ramp lowers itself from the bottom of the jet; for a moment, Erik holds his breath, ready for any attack or hint of violence. What he is  _not_ ready for is a little girl to scramble down the ramp – a little girl who can't be more than eight or nine, with dark skin and a shock of white hair. When she catches sight of them, her face lights up, and Erik has to work hard not to smile in response to her obvious delight. She beckons excitedly at someone behind her, and waves shyly at Erik. Before long, there are a group of children gathered at the bottom of the ramp, all wide-eyed and shy.

Erik catches the noise of surprise before he can utter it when a tall black figure makes its way down the ramp, carrying a red-haired child. Darwin doesn't look very dead at the moment, and he's followed by Sean and Alex, who's holding the hand of a little boy wearing a visor. Sean ushers them all off the ramp and onto the ground in front of Erik, standing a few feet away. They say nothing, but seem to be waiting for someone.

If it's Charles, Erik can't tell – none of the metal that Charles usually wears is absent. There is a thud inside the jet, and then Hank appears, stalking gracefully down the ramp towards them. Erik hopes his disappointment isn't showing on his face. All of the others are standing slightly behind him, so he doesn't know how they're taking this development, and he isn't going to risk a glance round to see.

Hank approaches, flanked by Alex and Sean. Darwin stays back with the children, gesturing to them to keep quiet and listen. Alex and Sean look wary, as well they might, but Erik can also make out the bags under their eyes, and the slump of tiredness in their shoulders. Hank, on the other hand, looks like a born leader.

“Why are you here?” Erik demands, his voice ringing in the still air.

Hank opens his mouth to speak but stops, wincing and holding his head suddenly. Erik glances to his right to see Emma leaning forward, her eyes narrowed. He's about to tell her to stop when Hank opens his mouth and roars at Emma. The sound, hard, wild and angry, seems to echo around the little clearing they're all standing in, and Emma starts a little. “That's enough,” Erik tells her, enough of a command in his tone that she backs away.

Hank shakes his head and rolls his neck, before turning his attention to Erik. “We heard this place was a sanctuary for mutants, that we might be welcomed here as... well, welcomed at any rate.”

Erik can't help the surprise that shows on his face. Why would mutants who chose to stay with Charles need sanctuary? What happened that has brought them here, looking tired and more than a little afraid? Has Charles turned them away? Or something worse?

Hank cocks his head in the direction of the children, who still look a little shaken at his roaring. “Perhaps the children might be welcomed, if not us,” he says in his deep growl of a voice, and Erik realises that whatever has brought them all here, the children don't know anything about it. He glances first at Emma and then Mystique, both of whom look wary.

“If it's sanctuary you need, you can stay. All mutants are welcome here,” Erik tells Hank, partly out of spite that he can acknowledge as childish at Charles, partly to see Hank's reaction, and watches relief spread over his face. He nods, says thank you, and turns to speak to the children. It takes the best part of an hour to get them all settled, once they've retrieved cases and bags from the jet and had a tour of the base, the children babbling happily and asking excited questions of different people about their mutations.

Once they've all found a place to sleep, Erik sends Hank a message via Emma to meet him in what Mystique has dubbed the war room; it's where all their intelligence is gathered and their plans are drawn up. Erik wavers for a moment once he's in the room, because if they're all spies, then bringing them into this room isn't a good idea, but everyone is crowding into the room, and it's too late to suggest somewhere else.

He nods at Darwin as he passes; “glad to see you back again,” Erik tells him sincerely. Darwin grins at him, teeth flashing in the gloom of the room, and glances at Alex before replying, “'s good to be back.” He doesn't elaborate, but Erik didn't expect him to. He and Alex seem very close, Erik thinks as he watches the way they stand beside each other, not quite touching, and he tucks that development away to ponder later.

The door closes behind the last person into the room – Emma – and silence falls. Erik looks round the room, noting that, unsurprisingly, battle lines seem to have been drawn. He sighs inwardly and turns to Hank, standing opposite him, flanked by the others. “Tell us why you've come here,” he begins, commanding and stern.

“I would like your assurance, first of all, that Miss Frost will stay out of my head unless asked,” is Hank's rejoinder as he pulls himself to his true height, an imposing figure, his fur making him seem even larger than he is. Erik looks at Emma when he says, “you have our assurance,” and he's fairly certain that Emma is cursing him out in her own head, judging by the look on her face.

Hank clears his throat, sounding more like a growl than anything else, and stands more at ease as he begins. “I was being truthful earlier when I said that we came here for sanctuary. I thought we would be safer among our own kind.”

Erik interrupts - “But you were already with your own kind” - not daring to mention Charles by name for fear that he won't be able to hide his reaction to it. Hank shakes his head. “The Professor,” he says slowly, “is a changed man.”

“Really,” Erik drawls, disbelieving.

“Yes.”

“I find that hard to believe.” Bitterness seeps into his tone; how could it not, when Charles' unchanging views were the thing that had kept them apart?

“You weren't there, asshole,” Alex spits out, furious as he pushes away from the wall he's leaning against, surprising everyone in the room. Darwin settles a hand on his shoulder and he stills, breathing hard and evidently trying to get himself under control. His eyes are glowing red. Hank reaches out and lays a paw on his other shoulder. “It's alright, Alex,” he murmurs. Erik doesn't understand the look that passes between them, but then, as he reminds himself, he doesn't really know them any more.

Alex leans into Darwin's side, and Hank turns back to Erik. “Let me explain,” he says, glancing at Emma. Her mouth falls open, obviously surprised. In the middle of the room, hovering over the massive table covered in papers and blueprints and plans, a figure appears in mid-air.

It's Charles.

Erik can feel himself crumbling under the weight of missing him so much it's hard to breathe sometimes. He's lain awake at night trying to talk himself out of being heartbroken and miserable; no-one is ever allowed to mention Charles by name, even when he's thwarted their plans, because he can't bear to hear it; he wears the helmet to keep himself in, rather than everyone else out, because his heart bleeds so much it's hard to contain it.

But it's not the Charles he remembers, and everyone gasps. Erik can't help it; he reaches out to touch him and his hand goes right through the projection. Charles is sitting in a wheelchair, his legs looking wasted from lack of use.

“But... what?” he blurts out, his brain failing to compute the image in front of him.

“That's what happens,” Sean explains quietly, “when a bullet hits someone in the spine.”

Erik is horrified; _he_ did this. He left Charles like _this_ and didn't even think to look back. Out of the corner of eye, he can see Mystique; she has her hands over her mouth and she looks very like the young girl she used to be.

Abruptly, Erik is angry, an attempt to disguise how he feels. “So you left the man who took you all in and gave you a home because he's in a wheelchair?”

All four boys look at him rather pointedly, and for a split second, Erik thinks about backing down. Hank sighs and pushes his glasses up his nose, leaning forward and resting his paws on the table in front of him. He looks old and tired all of a sudden. “It's not the only way that he changed. We were managing alright with the wheelchair, and we thought he was too. The kids never asked any questions about it, and everything seemed fine.”

He pauses, and then goes on. “I worked with him a lot. I built a new Cerebro so he could look for other mutants for the school, and he would teach me about telepathy. After a while, I started to notice that something was... off. What he was doing in Cerebro-- he wasn't looking for mutants. He was looking for people-- _humans._ ”

Hank looks sad now as he runs a paw through his fur. “I started joining the dots. The co-ordinates for where the Professor was looking for humans matched places that I heard about on the news later – suicides, mass murder, reports of wild animals breaking into labs and killing people. I thought I was being foolish until the attack on the military base in Ohio. They showed the man who went on the rampage on the television, dead-eyed and incoherent – all the classic signs of someone who had been telepathically manipulated and then wiped clean.”

“It's the Professor. He's making the humans turn on themselves. I plotted it all out-- wars being declared in peaceful European countries, reports of mass slaughter around the world, bombs, toxin attacks, all the talk of arms races. It's him.”

Hank finishes, shaking his head. The silence is deafening.

Erik can't believe-- won't believe it. That Charles would be responsible for all this? No. His mind recoils from the idea.

Emma speaks up. “Does he know that you suspect him?”

“He will soon.”

“How?”

“I left him a note. I drugged his tea last night, it'll keep him asleep for twelve hours. I needed the time to get us all out.”

Emma addresses the other three boys when she says, “did you all know?” As one, they shake their heads; they all look upset and afraid. “Hank told us this morning,” Darwin tells her, hooking one arm around Alex.

Emma turns her attention back to Hank. “How did you pull it off?” Hank stands up straight again and looks a little apologetic, for no reason that Erik can fathom until he explains, “the Professor taught me how to shield my mind in case we ever came across _you_ again, Miss Frost.” Emma smirks, pleased that Charles thought of her as enough of a threat that he had to teach others to shield against her.

Hank goes on, “I started making plans to leave, but I thought about them in a seemingly innocuous code that I devised myself. Charles always let me know when he was reading my mind and he never went deeper than surface thoughts, so I was able to hide my plans. Whichever one of you donated Shaw's old helmet to us did me a service. I was building the new jet at the time and I was able to replicate the alloy in the jet. I let Charles think it was a safety measure necessitated by you, and then I kitted it out to hold all of us, including the children.”

“I finished it two weeks ago and once I was satisfied that it passed every possible test, I took them” - he jerks a thumb at the other three boys - “into it and explained what was going on. We told the children we were going on holiday, and came here.”

Hank pulls his glasses off and rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. The strain of hiding things from Charles has obviously been telling on him.

Erik finally speaks again. “How did you know where to find us?”

“Charles knew where you all were. I don't know whose mind he followed, but he found you through Cerebro. He's known where you are for a long time.”

Erik folds his arms and looks at Hank disapprovingly. “I don't suppose you disabled Cerebro before you left so that he couldn't track you here?”

“No, I didn't.”

Erik is about to berate Hank for his lack of foresight when the mutant goes on, “I didn't disable it because he doesn't use it any more. _He_ _doesn't need it_.”

Right. Now Erik's really afraid, and judging by the spike of fear on everyone's expressions, so is everyone else. Emma hisses, her fists clenching, as she says to no-one in particular, “I _knew_ there was something wrong with those humans, something off.” She pokes her tongue out of her mouth as though trying to taste something. “The imprint I kept picking up, it was _intent_. It was so angry and masked with other things that I couldn't find the source... oh, he's _good_. I could still be looking for it and I wouldn't have found it.”

“We'll need to plan, Magneto,” Emma goes on, addressing Erik now; he nods in reply and dismisses everyone with a jerk of his head. He needs to think, and stares at the space in the room where the image of Charles had been earlier, now burnt into his memory.

As they all leave, Erik calls after Hank, who turns back into the room with a questioning look on his face.

“Why is he doing this?” he asks, not sure he'll like the answer.

“You know why,” Hank replies, which isn't any kind of answer at all.

*

It isn't until later that something slots into place in Erik's memory. He's been thinking about Charles all day, more so than usual, and it's when he plops onto his mattress face down - almost knocking himself out because he forgot to take his helmet off before he did that - that he remembers the night months ago when Charles came to him.

He had never told anyone of his love for Charles, but he knew that Emma at least had guessed at it, based on his anger at the first time anyone had mentioned Charles by name. One night, months after Cuba, he was sitting in his room, brooding, when the door opened, and Charles walked into the room. Erik had been stuck dumb with surprise and could only stare as that familiar figure came closer.

“Charles?” he had stuttered, his incoherence met with a slow smile.

“Hello, Erik. Or should I call you Magneto now?”

“Erik. You can always call me Erik.”

“I've missed you, my friend.”

“I've missed you too,” Erik had croaked out, overcome and honest. He had pulled his helmet off and Charles had smiled, but there had been no answering whisper at the edge of his mind that let him know Charles was there.

“You're... you're not in my mind.”

Charles shook his head, blue eyes guileless. Erik didn't understand what was going on or why he was here, but he was too heart-sick to care. Charles reached out and cupped the side of his face; Erik leaned into the touch, eyes closing, and felt a thumb rubbing over his lips. Their first kiss was more than Erik had ever dreamed of-- their second was deeper and hungrier.

Erik couldn't help the words he whispered as he kissed Charles, pulling him onto the bed with him. He was solid in his arms, warm and real, and Erik murmured a steady stream of _missed you, missed you so much, sorry sorry sorry, want you, always want you.... love you._

The sex had been fantastic and filthy and desperately sad; when Erik woke in the morning, he felt more empty than he ever had. There was no sign that Charles had ever been in the room- only the ache of Erik's muscles gave any indication that the night before had not been a dream.

At the time, he had wondered if it had been Mystique in disguise, even though his mind recoiled from that idea; if it had been her, she knew more about Charles in all kinds of details that Erik didn't want to know about. And yet, there didn't seem to be any other explanation, because Charles had appeared whole and solid; as far as Erik knew, projections were simply images, not forms.

Now, however, he wonders if perhaps it had been a projection after all – if Charles knew where they were, and was infinitely more powerful than Emma could ever be, then maybe it had been the true Charles all along, as he wanted Erik to remember him.

It is _this_ thought that now keeps Erik awake on more nights than he will ever admit to anyone.

*

The new mutants settle in well, but the grand plan of how to tackle this new problem is a matter of much debate. The Brotherhood have very set ideas on what to do, as do the X-Men, and compromise is not something either group has considered. It takes a combination of Darwin and Hank to come up with a plan that seems more palatable to everyone than anything argued about previously; they're simply going to wait it out. Eventually, if they keep turning on themselves, helped by Charles, humanity will disappear and theoretically, mutants will be safe.

It's not a great plan, as they all discover. Bombs begin to fall with greater frequency as countries go to war, wiping out whole populations. Wars rage everywhere, and mutants are now among the casualties. No-one is safe, not even this band of mutants hiding in a cave under everyone's radar.

On the day that the fight comes to them, Erik begins to realise the folly of having done nothing to stop Charles from continuing with his horrific plan. Even before the smoke has cleared from the first wave of bombs, Mystique hands him his helmet from where it was knocked off and tells him, “go, stop him, please, before it's too late.”

Erik tries to argue, but she simply tells him, “you're the only one who can,” before racing back outside to do battle with the soldiers and the planes and the bombs.

Erik commandeers one of the planes that had been brought down by a glancing blow from Alex and is still surprisingly intact. Through a combination of fine motor control and knowledge of the Earth's magnetic fields, Erik makes it all the way to New York on half a tank of fuel; even as he flies over the Westchester estate, he can see the rubble of the mansion. Not much of it is left, but he hopes that Charles is still here somewhere.

He sets the plane down facing the remains of the giant satellite dish that once stood out against the sky; the memory of it causes a pang in his chest that continues to echo as he picks his way through the mangled bricks and mortar.

Charles is in the study-- or at least, what's left of it. Erik approaches him cautiously, even though he doesn't acknowledge Erik's approach. He's sitting in his chair, hunched over; his eyes are wide and unseeing. Erik's traitorous heart skips a beat at the sight of him.

He pulls off the helmet, letting the wind ruffle his hair, and drops it to the ground with a clang. Then, just at the edge of his mind, he can feel the whisper that means Charles knows he's here.

“Hello, my friend,” Charles says, still staring straight ahead. His voice is hoarse and dry, as though he hasn't used for a while. To Erik, it's the most beautiful and welcome sound in the world.

“Hello, Charles.”

“Why have you come?”

“To see you,” Erik answers honestly. Oh, there might be a mission involved in there somewhere, but he really came because of Charles. “I missed you,” he says, his voice cracking.

Charles makes no reply. Instead, Erik can hear him in his mind. _Can you feel it, Erik? Their minds?_

He can; there are so many of them, and they're all suffering. Their pain slices into Erik and he almost cries out in the way that they do. One by one, the minds flicker and go out, like candles in a breeze.

“Charles, please, _no_ ,” Erik chokes out, struggling not to reach out for all of the nearest available metal.

He moves closer, still pleading. “Please, Charles. Why are you doing this?”

Those wide blue eyes turn to meet his. “You wanted to rule the world, so I'm giving it to you. It's what you wanted. It's why you left me.”

Erik shakes his head, a sob rising in his throat. “No, no, I never wanted the world,” he says, a tear trickling down his nose. “I wanted _you_.”

He kneels in front of Charles, both hands cupping that well-remembered face

“Please. _Please_ ,” he pleads, crying for Charles and for himself and all that they have lost. What is this doing to Charles, feeling all those minds die?

Charles blinks, breaking his stare. One of his hands leaves his lap to grip Erik's wrist.

“Erik,” he breathes. “Erik.”

“I'm here,” Erik sobs. _I love you, I'm sorry, please. I'm here._

He kisses Charles, sweet and bitter, tears wetting his face. Here, at the end of the world, is the man he has loved more deeply than anything and anyone else in his life. Erik pours every part of himself into the kiss, feeling Charles respond and kissing him harder.

And then--

_It's too late_

\--there is nothing.

*

The whole world is quiet, eerie in it's stillness. Only the waves of the sea move, washing over each shore that it touches, in thrall to the pull of the sun and moon. Wind whistles through what trees are left. Whole continents are desolate, vast craters marking the landscape. There is no sign of life, either human or animal...

...except in Westchester, New York. In the ruins of a mansion, laid waste by bombs and ravaged by time, a solitary figure sits in a wheelchair, cradling the body of the man that it was all for.

**Fin**


End file.
